


Opened Doors

by InsufferableYetPleasant



Series: Wake of the Killing Game [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Donuts, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsufferableYetPleasant/pseuds/InsufferableYetPleasant
Summary: The survivors of the Killing Game have finally recovered their memories. Now it's Kyoko's turn.Takes place in an AU where Junko lied and the world didn't end.
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto
Series: Wake of the Killing Game [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208540
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Opened Doors

**Author's Note:**

> So, to reiterate, this takes place in an AU wherein Junko lied and the world didn't end. May end up being part of a series, we'll see.
> 
> I wrote this all in a couple of hours so take that into account, I guess.

It was the high dark of midnight, and Makoto Naegi felt his way down the stairs of the house; he could often be found walking this path, so much so that he had almost memorized the route in the dark. Half-dried tears still streaked his face, ever threatening to reopen and start the flood anew.

They survivors of the Killing Game had recovered their memories earlier that day thanks to serums in syringes left behind by Junko Enoshima, and with sudden clarity Makoto had been able to recall two years of previously-missing life. Two years that he could now recall as the happiest time of his life. He had spent almost every day with his beloved classmates, all of whom he could now clearly picture. He remembered years of close friendships. He remembered years of growing to know all these people he now remembered he had loved.

And, as always, he could remember all their gruesome deaths, hurting now all the more, shaking him down to his very foundation.

The tears began again.

He continued his nightly trip down to the front door -- or at least, his otherwise-nightly trip, for he had already completed it once tonight, his anxiety exasperated by the new depths of his sorrow. Try as he might, he couldn’t sleep at all tonight. He needed to make sure the door was locked.

Because if he wasn’t sure, he’d start to remember that night, narrowly skirting death at the hands of the masked killer he now knew to be Junko Enoshima. The trauma stuck with him to this day, even though he had been saved at the last minute by Kyoko Kirigiri.

Kyoko, who had told him to lock his door. Kyoko, who often walked the same route at night in the house the survivors all shared. Kyoko, who walked for the same reasons. Kyoko, who he trusted even more than any of the others, all for whom he would gladly give his life. The two often met, at night, passing by each other on their lonely patrols of the house’s outer doors, to the point where they had both subconsciously started timing their walks to coincide. They would meet, they would check the door, they would sit and share their quiet company, and they would return to their rooms. During these vigils, they had never shared a word, both silently sensing the other’s purpose and declining to comment.

They hadn’t crossed paths at their usual time that night, which worried Makoto. Yet, at the same time, he was relieved, for he didn’t know how he could face any of his fellow survivors right now. Even forgetting their deepened sorrow, they now faced memories of two more years of friendship with each other. Two years of relationships completely different from the ones they now held. Two years of knowing each other without any of their now-everyday traumas. He didn’t want to face any of them, knowing now how far they had all fallen. He would have to, that next day, and it would break his heart once again to see the dulled light in all their eyes. But for now, he didn’t think he could bear it.

Lost in thought, he continued his path.

As he checked the lock on the front door, he heard quiet sniffling. He almost overlooked it as his own crying, were it not for the fact that the sniffling was suddenly cut off, as though trying to be quiet. Despite this it was followed up by more, and Makoto felt his way slowly over to the source of sound somewhere in the kitchen.

He heard Kyoko give a gasp of breath from the floor as his foot collided with what he assumed to be her leg. “Sorry!” he whispered, feeling his way down to the floor to sit beside her.

“It’s okay,” she whispered back, her voice small and carefully measured, even as she gave another small, wet, inhale.

It was slightly lighter in the kitchen, with the faintest moonlight shining through the open windows, and Makoto’s eyes were starting to adjust. Kyoko was folded in on herself as she sat on the floor against the corner of the room, her hands wrapped around her legs, pulled to her body so she rested her head upon her knees. He could barely make out something small next to her feet, and, feeling around to pick it up, he realized it was a small syringe, same as the ones they had used earlier that day to return their memories.

“I’m sorry.” Despite her sniffling, Kyoko’s voice betrayed no hint of sorrow, a level of discipline which both amazed and saddened Makoto. “I didn’t take mine earlier. I didn’t want to be around anyone when I did.”

Tears flooded Makoto’s eyes to see the usually-stoic girl so upset. Her voice, still devoid of emotion, felt slightly off. Where normally it made her sound calm and collected, right now it just sounded… lost. She sounded like the scared little girl that he realized with a start she actually was right now. He thought carefully before replying. “I… I can leave if you want.”

A gloved hand gripped his arm tightly. “No! No, it’s okay. I…” Her voice cracked slightly and she trailed off, letting go of his arm with a start as though afraid of having touched him.

“Kyoko, I’m sorry…” His voice was quiet but thick, desperately trying to hold off his emotions as he cried silently alongside her. She shifted slightly, and with sudden certainty he wrapped his arms slowly around her.

She flinched at his touch, then slowly leaned into him, placing her head on his shoulder as she relaxed almost imperceptibly, still crying. He rested his head on hers, tears falling down his cheeks as well. She sniffled again, and he felt his shoulder start to dampen as her tears stained his shirt. Her arms gingerly covered his.

They sat in silence for several minutes, neither of them uttering a word as they both sat in desolate solace. Despite his overwhelming sadness, there was a part of Makoto that was desperately glad to be here, to be able to comfort Kyoko, to be able to share this lonely sorrow with someone else. 

He had never loved anyone so much as he did right then.

The thought elicited the smallest sob from him. Kyoko clutched his arms to her even tighter, and replied with a small hiccup.

“Makoto…”

“I know,” he replied.

“I just…” Her voice failed her.

“I know.”

“I loved them all so much,” she whimpered almost too quietly for him to hear.

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing more tears to flow freely onto his face. “I remember.” He was truly lucky, truly blessed, to have someone so close to him to share this boundless emotion with. He knew he would have died going through this alone. And maybe, the thought occurred to him with a shiver, so would she. She moved her arms to hold him, to hug him back, as he did for her.

“We loved them and they died,” she said, not even bothering to try and hide her sadness anymore.

“I know.” His eyes were still shut.

She pushed him lightly with one hand, a small shove punctuated with another sniffle. “Why do you keep repeating yourself?”

He opened his eyes, thinking, sniffling. “Because right now I don’t know how to say anything else.”

There was a moment, then, perfectly still in the silence of the night. Makoto knew he would never forget this second of total understanding between the two, both of them feeling the same sorrow, suffering the same pain. Then, in unison, they both clutched the other tighter, and over the next few minutes their tears slowly petered out.

They stayed like this, holding each other, until sleep reached them both, slowly crawling its way onto their tear-streaked faces.

With his last thought, he remembered how quietly she had been sobbing. He remembered how close to the door she had been. He realized she could have done all that upstairs in her room.

A small smile forced itself onto his face as he dozed off.

_She wanted me to find her…_

Hina woke up early that morning, some forgotten nightmare jarring her awake. She couldn’t deal with another right now, especially after the previous day, and so she forced herself up and left her room.

As she did every morning, she glided down the hallway and quietly checked everyone’s doors. They were all ajar, as they always were; everyone kept their doors unlocked for her. Sometimes they would forget, and she would panic, remembering how she found Sakura, and she would slam her hands against the door shouting the name of the person inside until they approached her and let her know they were safe. She would hug them and apologize and cry, and they would hug her and apologize and cry in return, holding each other tight.

Today, however, Makoto’s door was opened wide. She glanced inside to see his bed was empty, and her heart hitched in her throat. Carefully, she leaned against the wall and took ten deep breaths, slowly uncoiling the nascent knot in her stomach. She sighed deeply, closing the door part way, and began to walk downstairs for a breakfast donut or two.

Scratch that; after her minor panic with Makoto’s absence, she deserved at least four breakfast donuts.

She stopped herself as she entered the kitchen, covering her mouth with a hand and barely managed to stop herself from squealing. There, in the corner, Makoto and Kyoko were calmly asleep, leaning on each other. There were small, relaxed smiles on both their faces, and Hina’s face widened into a grin in turn. After a brief pause, she pulled out her phone and snapped a quick, quiet photo of the two of them, making sure to save it before returning the phone to her pocket.

A reassuring thought struck her; if the two of them could sleep happily right now, so could she. She quietly made her way back upstairs with full intent to sleep in.

After a sight like that, who needed donuts?

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, hope you liked it. As this is my first work on here, I'd greatly appreciate any constructive criticism and critiques.
> 
> I'm fairly new to Danganronpa but man am I obsessed, so I felt like I had to write something. I like characters dealing with trauma and I love Naegiri, so that's what ended up happening.
> 
> With luck, I'll be adding in a few new works soon, probably tying into this series. Or I may write a chatfic instead; who knows? Hope you enjoyed!


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